


Alligator Sky (As If I Knew)

by WolfAtSea



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: First Order Poe Dameron, Gen, Politics, Redemption (not really), Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAtSea/pseuds/WolfAtSea
Summary: Poe woke up in the medbay on the Finalizer - at least that’s where they told him it was - not remembering much from his life before the crash. They told him he was Commander Dameron of the First Order, the best pilot they ever had. A few things do stand out.One, flying is in his blood.Two, his round little astromech is a snarky piece of work and he loves it.Three, he and his somewhat neurotic, red-headed boss probably used to be friends - why else would he find it acceptable to address his commanding officer as “General Hugs”?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought I'd write something in the Star Wars fandom, but here we go! A word of warning before we start: I have been a Star Wars fan for years, but my knowledge of the fandom is confined to the movies. I am starting to read the books, but there are so much to get through T.T   
> So if I make a glaring mistake regarding anything in the Galaxy Far, Far Away, please kindly let me know.

_The Finalizer, somewhere in the Mid Rim_

It was the very end of a standard day. Two men stood side by side in a more secluded part of the medbay on the idling star destroyer, looking through a one-way viewport into a private room. All human medical personnel had retired for the rest cycle. Most med droids were on power-saving mode. The lights were on dim, and everything was awfully quiet.  
  
“Are you still certain this is the best course of action?” General Hux of the First Order broke the silence. “Sir?” He added. It didn’t sound forced. It had been three standard weeks since Supremacy after all. In another six short days, he was to be promoted to Grand Admiral. Titles were titles. “I myself am starting to doubt this is a good idea, if we’re being honest here.”  
  
“No. But it’ll be interesting.” The newly self-proclaimed Supreme Leader answered, almost a hint of levity in his tone. “Would you prefer if I tear apart his mind and fish for information in the scraps?”  
  
Hux couldn’t decide. In front of them, in the secure ward, lay the infamous Poe Dameron, a royal pain in his arse long before the dreadnought above D’Qar. Hux quickly wetted his bottom lip, as if he could still taste the blood. He could certainly still taste the humiliation, searing much deeper than the cut. Poe Dameron, rebel bloodline through and through. That poster boy smile, that happy-go-lucky attitude, that cocky grin … The General would like nothing more than to see this man crumble. And yet.  
  
“I already did that to the co-pilot. It gets boring after a certain point.” Kylo Ren continued, ever the petulant child.  
  
From what they could gather, Dameron was on a last-ditch mission to recruit more allies when he was shot down. He wasn’t flying an X-Wing then, but instead an old smuggler’s vessel, as raggedy as the Millennium Falcon, with only one co-pilot - an unfortunate young man whom Ren made quick work of. His body had long been airlocked.  
  
“Dameron was the de-facto leader of their gang after Leia Organa. He could know more.” Hux countered. They’d had this argument before, some four cycles ago, when both prisoners were hanging to life by a string after the near-fatal crash. Dameron had been under heavy medication ever since, only awake long enough for Ren’s experimentation. He’d never remember any of that. The co-pilot let out the most blood curdling screams, but the information in his head proved disappointing:  
  
Organa and the rest of her ragtag crew jumped to arbitrary systems every few cycles, and Dameron’s mission hadn’t been in contact with them for longer than that. It was by design. Hux and Ren both agreed even Dameron wouldn’t be any more helpful in locating the Resistance.  
  
“Didn’t you say this yourself, General? ‘Never waste good men like this’?” Ren challenged.  
  
“A good leader cannot afford to.” We can’t afford to, after all our losses.  
  
“Can’t you see? If this worked, it would be unprecedented. Even you should be able to appreciate this, General.” Hux bit back a scoff. Ren had remarked in the past that he was as force-sensitive as a bantha. He took it as a compliment. “I can tear someone’s mind to pieces and leave them as a vegetable. But what fun is that? Or I can wipe out a single bit of memory, or give someone a small suggestion, but this? This is unheard of. I wonder if even Snoke could do something as incredible.”  
  
Hux had never heard Ren ramble like this, all giddy pride. The Supreme Leader surely didn’t have a similar passion for the Order’s finances and logistics. What a shame. Yet Hux had always had a borderline obsession with powerful, trail-blazing things. Like the Death Star. Like Starkiller Base. Like this risky game of make-believe they were about to play here.  
  
“Regardless of the results, it will be interesting.” The General agreed.  
  
“Dameron is scheduled to wake up in the next cycle, isn’t he?”  
  
“Yes, at 1600.”  
  
“Well. You can see for yourself then.” Ren said somewhat smugly. “I trust you will be here to oversee his adjustment yourself?”  
  
“Yes, sir. As we discussed.”  
  
Ren nodded, and turned to leave.  
  
“Have a good evening, Supreme Leader.” Hux called out half-heartedly. Ren acknowledged him with another nod, back to his quietly menacing self. Soon enough Hux was left alone in the darkened medbay, still staring at rebel scum.


	2. Like the Sun

The decks of the _Finalizer_ were swarming with personnel as stations changed hands for gamma shift, but one corner of the medbay remained empty. In a small, secured room at the very end, a dark-haired man paced anxiously in a bacta suit. He was wearing nothing but the odd, leaking coverall that he’d had on like a second skin for the past few days. It would have been comical if not for the fact that he had no idea where he was. Or what had happened to him. Or even who he was.  
  
A medical droid on standby mode beeped to life.  
  
“Patient #626: awake. Conducting post recovery scan …” A light filled the small room as machines all around started whirring. The man stopped in his tracks. “Scan complete. Status: satisfactory. Discharge pending.”  
  
“Pending?” The man demanded. He woke up only a few minutes ago, but he didn’t feel thirsty at all. His voice sounded loud in the sterile little room. “Now how do i get discharged and get out of here?” He might not remember much of who he was, but he felt he probably had a deep-rooted hatred for medbays. _Come on, who didn’t?_ “And how do I get out of this … this thing?” He gestured at himself. The dripping fluid had collected in a small pool around his feet.  
  
“Please be patient, Commander.”  
  
_Commander?_  
  
“Your discharge is pending authorization by a superior officer. One is scheduled to visit anytime after 1600.”  
  
“Fine. Clothes?” The man prodded.  
  
“You are wearing a bacta suit that has greatly aided your recovery. It is no longer needed. Please discard it and change into uniform.” The droid droned on. It appeared emotions weren’t part of this model’s programming. “You will find a refresher on your right.”  
  
The man - a Commander, supposedly - indeed located a moving panel on the wall that opened to a ‘fresher. On the towel rack, he found a neatly folded pile of clothes. A uniform, all in black. He spotted two telltale metal tags and reached for them hungrily.  
  
Dameron, P.  
FJ-CK-214  
  
That was all there was on the tags. A name and a serial. “Dameron.” He said that out loud, tasting the feel of the name. _Dameron._ It sounded familiar. Sounded right. “Commander … Dameron.” He said it several more times, then it came to him.  
  
“Poe Dameron.” He declared triumphantly. _My name is Poe Dameron._  
  
He stepped in front of the mirror and stared at himself. Nothing looked out of place. His hair had gotten long and he needed a good shave, but there was nothing fundamentally wrong. There was a fresh looking scar on his right forehead, but he'd assumed there had to be some nasty injuries to land him in the medbay.  
  
_I am Poe Dameron, Commander of … Commander of what?_  
  
If Poe thought everything would come rushing back once he recalled his name, he was sorely disappointed. Now he had a name and a rank for himself, but the rest was still gone. Or, rather, misty. Like something was there and he knew it was there but he couldn’t reach it, couldn’t pinpoint it exactly.  
  
With a lack of anything better to do, he stripped off the leaky suit with considerable effort and stepped into the shower. It was a real shower with piping hot water, quite a pleasant surprise for a medbay. It felt wonderful. Poe took the time to locate a few more fresh scars on himself, all healed nicely. There were several older ones too; most of them fading, one of looking like it never healed as neatly, still twinging from time to time. His left leg felt weak, probably recently broken, but otherwise he felt fine.  
  
The uniformly fit perfectly - perhaps he used to wear this set before the injury. He stepped in front of the mirror again. He wasn’t sure if he always wore black, but he look smart in it. He touched his chin, freshly shaven. Much better, now all he needed was a haircut to look a hundred percent sharp for duty.  
  
Poe went back to the main room and sat down on the cot, tapping his foot impatiently. The talking droid was powered down again, paying him no mind. A small sanitation unit was soaking up the fluid on the floor, not replying at all when he tried to make conversation. Whoever this “superior officer” was supposed to be, he’d better hurry up. Poe was getting hungry.

  


 

The chrono read 1445 when the sliding panel hissed open. A uniformed man walked in, and Poe got on his feet by instinct. The man stopped a few meters before Poe with his hands behind his back.  
  
Poe was suddenly skittish with anticipation. He knew this man! That ridiculous long coat he was wearing even indoors, that slicked-back orange hair contrasting so harshly against his uniform and the surrounding durasteel … A name materialized from somewhere beyond the mist, and Poe said it before he could stop himself.  
  
“Hugs?”  
  
Wait, what?  
  
The man’s previously impassive face did a funny thing then, like he was fighting a smile or a sneer. Possibly both.  
  
“That’s General -”  
  
“ - General Hux to me, I know. Sorry.” Poe dared to cut him off, grinning like a fool. He had no idea how good this felt, after, after - “I’ve called you Hugs before - you didn’t even notice, did you.” He wanted to jump up and down, wanted to laugh; he remembered, he remembered - here was someone he knew - he was going to remember - “Sir.” He added, belatedly.  
  
The General gave a long-suffering sigh, as if he was used to dealing with children.  
  
“Commander Dameron, you must have plenty of questions. I’ll answer then to the best of my ability as I assign your discharge papers.” He pulled out a sleek holopad and started tapping.” “Your medical scan results are fine. You do feel well enough to be discharged, yes?”  
  
“Yes! Sir.” Poe answered, perhaps a little too quickly, remembering to tack on the honorific this time. _I must make such a lousy military man_ , he thought. Or maybe other officers just weren’t this stiff about hierarchy. He’d find out later.  
  
Hux kept tapping away, not glancing up.  
  
“Sir, where are we? What happened to me?”  
  
“We are on my command vessel, the star destroyer _Finalizer_ , flagship of the First Order.” The General looked up then, something glinting in his pale eyes. Pride, Poe realized. It was pride. “You’ve been in a terrible accident - a training accident, caused by mechanical errors.” Hux looked solemn again. “I’m sorry to say your co-pilot didn’t survive.”  
  
“Oh …” Poe wasn’t sure what to say. He wondered whether he felt more or less bad now that he didn’t even remember who his poor co-pilot was.  
  
“Why don’t I remember …?” He tried not to sound so small. He probably failed.  
  
Hux shook his head. “I’m not a medical professional, Commander. Your injuries were extensive - they warned us this might happen. It might all come back to you yet.”  
  
Or it might not. Poe fought a sudden urge to fidget. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to hear - that it was temporary, that it was the aftereffect of some treatment, that it was going to wear off? A fool’s hope. He took a blow to the head, and that was it. The mist wasn’t getting any thinner. He felt so lost.  
  
“I’m here - I’m here to make your transition easier. I don’t do that for just anybody - you’re a hero, Dameron.” Hux didn’t sound warm, offering his help so matter-of-factly. Which meant he wasn’t pitying Poe. Which was good.  
  
“I … I was a pilot?” The answer to this one he instinctively knew.  
  
“Yes, you’re a pilot.” Hux gave a real smile this time, albeit a little tightly. Maybe that was just how he smiled. “You’re the damn best pilot in the First Order, if I do say so myself, Well, perhaps after Supreme Leader Kylo Ren -”  
  
“- but Kylo Ren uses the force, and that’s cheating.” Poe finished before he realized what he was saying.  
  
“Don’t let him hear that.” The General mock chided. Poe was grinning again. Perhaps there was some hope left after all.  
  
“So, General, what do I have to do to go flying again?”

 

The officers’ mess, Poe decided, was a great place to start. Whatever machines he was hooked up to during his recovery kept him hydrated and nourished, but they did nothing to placate his stomach. It was only 1700, but there was already a fair number of officers taking meals, a sea of black and dark grey everywhere he looked. They weren’t surprised to see the commander of the ship among them, Poe noticed, giving the General respectful nods or salutes. At the same time, for some reason, they were giving Poe a wide berth.  
  
Poe didn’t bother worrying over his social situation until he wolfed down all of his portion, even though common sense told him to slow down. Common sense could go shove itself. The food was excellent. The General looked amused; his own dining manners Poe could describe as “dainty”.  
  
“We very recently replenished our supply. The Quartermaster informed me that we have another week of real food, then it’s back to the nutri-packs.”  
  
Ration packs. A mental image presented itself: mashed-up, half-fluid food with a disturbing green tint and unknown origins. They used to nickname it “nutri-slime”, Poe recalled morbidly.  
  
“Yuck. I don’t miss that.” They were sitting at a bench pretty much in the centre of the canteen. More people were piling in; none deigned to join the two of them. Poe finally decided to broach the subject.  
  
“Was I stationed on the Finalizer before? Before the accident?” He started cautiously.  
  
“Yes. You shared command of our fighter squadrons.”  
  
“I don’t remember anyone here. Anyone but you.” Poe observed. “They don’t seem to recognize me, either.”  
  
The General shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Most officers you were familiar with are likely elsewhere. I know for a fact the J fighter squadron run exercises until 1800.”  
  
“Hope so.” Poe conceded. People had been staring at him too, however discreetly. He had the vaguest sense that he didn’t quite belong here, and he was trying very hard to push it down.  
  
“The officers have been briefed on your, ah, condition. They would be cautious in approaching you. The doctors were apprehensive of you being overwhelmed.” Hux explained, poking at the remnant of his food idly. That made sense in a way. But reading people came easily to Poe - as he looked around the room, the two emotions that stood out were curiosity and distrust. Why distrust?  
  
“I do remember things. Some things very well. Some really trivial things, even. But not others. It’s all very arbitrary. I just can’t seem to remember … people.” He knew he sounded miserable. _I don’t even remember me._  
  
A few tables away, several young officers were chatting amicably, laughing. Poe found it hard to believe that he hadn’t had a gang like that. He felt like a people person. How was it possible that the only one he was friendly with was this twitchy, uptight general in front of him? Did someone like Hux even have friends?  
  
“That reminds me - I do have have someone you’ll want to meet.” Hux typed in an instruction on his handheld, then stood briskly, depositing his half-eaten tray of food onto the waiting rack of a cleaning droid. Poe followed suit.  
  
“Someone?” He inquired as Hux led him out of the mess hall, onto a lift, across decks, through corridors, onto a lift again. Poe was ninety percent sure he was lost already. How was it fair that he didn’t remember the way on his own mothership?  
  
“You’ll see.” They finally stopped in front of a machine shop beside one of the fighter decks. Muffled yelling from a flight instructor could be heard from behind the panels. Poe assumed they weren’t here for that. He tried peering into the flight deck, but the entrance was sealed shut. What kind of fighter did he fly? He couldn't quite remember.  
  
“All right, Ball. Come out.” Hux called out with good humour.  
  
Instantly, a little ball-shaped droid came skittering out, and something inside Poe clicked.  
  
“My droid!” Something had been nagging at him ever since Hux mentioned the crash. Now he knew: he was worrying about his snarky little astromech. If the co-pilot didn’t make it, then … then … He would think on the fact that he remembered his droid but not his human copilot later.  
  
“Buddy! You’re okay, you’re okay -” Poe dropped into a crouch, and the droid rolled into his open arms, beeping excitedly.  
  
`poe.state  <= human.healthy; then BB-9e.feeling <= emo.happy; if (poe.knowledge.contains(BB-9e))?`  
  
“Yes! Yes, of course I remember you, buddy.”  
  
Poe was aware he looked ridiculous, on his knees with his arms around a droid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a man was teasing him for treating his astromech like a pet dog. A girl was defending him, cooing at how adorable BB-9e was. “Don’t let the ball fool you - he swears as much as R2!” Said an older woman’s voice. Poe didn’t know who these people were. For the moment, he was happy enough not to care.  
  
`BB-9e.state[previous] = cond.damaged; BB-9e.property.contains(new paint)`  
  
“Nice!” Poe ran his hands across the shiny ebony finish. “Next time we should paint you orange.”  
  
BB-9e let out an indignant whistle, rolling backwards to show his affront. Poe finally looked up at Hux, not even trying to fight the smile. “Thank you, General.”  
  
Hux smiled back.

 

The General was needed elsewhere soon after dinner. Poe was eternally grateful for having BB-9e to lead him to his room; he never would have found it otherwise. Everyone he’d passed in the halls looked at him a little strangely, but no one had talked to him yet. BB-9e did enough mindless chattering for the two of them.  
  
HIs room was tucked away at the very end of the third officer deck, small but cozy, with a bed, a desk, and an adjoining ‘fresher. He found more clothes in the closet: flight suits, a dress uniform, trainers, underwear. He supposed the sanitation droids did a fine job. A holopad sat on his desk. It unlocked with his fingerprint, but the settings were brand new. No data found. No network connection.  
  
`poe.holopad.state = cond.destroyed;` BB-9e piped up.  
  
“I see.”  
  
`BB-9e.observation.push(new holopad); exec BB-9e.actionObject[holopad].setUpNew();`  
  
“Thanks, buddy.” Poe left him to it, sitting down on his bed. The chrono above the entrance panel read 1813. He wasn’t sleepy, but his muscles felt weak and his left leg was starting to ache. So he stripped down to undergarments and stretched out on his bed.  
  
“Where do you think I’m from, BB? I wonder …”  
  
BB-9e responded by projecting a holo of the entire galaxy. Poe laughed. “Very helpful, buddy. Now I just have to find it …” Only about one in however many billion …  
  
`print(“you’re welcome”);`  
  
“Aren’t you handy.” Poe glanced at the droid fondly. “Now, do you play music too?”  
  
An uplifting whistle.  
  
As soft jazz from BB-9e’s tiny soundbox filled the room, Poe laid back and watched the multitude of stars dance on his ceiling. It was nice. However uncertain the future might seem, he felt safe here. He was to report to physical reconditioning first thing next cycle. Perhaps in a week or so, he could take to the skies again. The mist was still there in his head, taunting him with things he once had but had now lost. But he had his droid with him, a soft bed, a ginger-haired commanding officer who actually had a rather nice smile when he allowed it to show.  
  
He had hope. _And hope was like the sun -_  
  
“- if you only believe it when you can see it, you’ll never make it through the night.” Poe didn’t remember who said it to him, but he was going to find out, one day. He knew it.  
  
He drifted off not long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know this was mostly Poe's epic bromance with his astromech - not even his astromech lol
> 
> But I hope I also brought out Hux's character well enough?
> 
> A note on droidspeak: I looked everywhere but there doesn't seem to be a standardized way to "translate" the beeps and whistles, and I assume Poe has some understanding of the language. Wookiepedia says it also doubles as a programming language, so ... the Computer Scientist in me took that as a blessing and ran with it. 
> 
> And I really wanted Poe to use BB-9e as a Google Home, just for kicks. 
> 
> Once again, any comments are welcome!


	3. And That's Cheating

The next four cycles passed quickly, filled up by physical reconditioning and retraining. The physical therapist was a stern-faced woman who pushed him relentlessly, but Poe didn’t mind. He found that he liked physical exertion, found focus in it. The retraining was much less fun. With luck he blew through the re-certifications swiftly, thanking the Stars that whatever brand of amnesia he’d got, he didn’t have to sit through a Navigation and Communications course with fourteen-year-old cadets.  
  
At 1545, Poe logged his last pre-flight classroom cert and took the lift to the top deck. The first two cycles he had BB-9e accompany him everywhere, in case he got lost and made a fool out of himself. Now at least he could find his most frequented destinations with confidence. The star destroyer was ridiculously huge.  
  
Poe looked down at his holopad as some troopers held up the lift on the fifth deck. TIE fighter certification: 62% complete. There was plenty left to do: physical exams, psych evals, fighter sims. He hadn’t even been allowed to see the inside of a flight deck yet, but he was getting there.  
  
The Officer’s Track on the top deck was turning into one of Poe’s favorite places onboard. A full-size track-and-field stadium looked out into the endless space through massive viewports, fresh air blown across the field by the overhead fans, it was the least constricting place on the ship. Poe liked to come here just to think.  
  
They were orbiting the independent, agrarian planet of Ukio at the moment. Doing what, Poe didn't exactly know. Perhaps to stock up on even more rations for an extended tour in the Outer Rim. He was happy enough to have a view that wasn’t pure darkness, Ukio was a beautiful small planet from this distance, a sphere coated in strips of blue and green. Poe once again wondered where he was from; somewhere humid, maybe? The star destroyer could get frustratingly chilly. Probably somewhere tropical given his complexion, but his parents could always be migrants. The warm light from the system’s red dwarf made him think of home.  
  
_Focus, Poe. Focus. 38% to go._ Tearing his eyes away from the viewport, he checked out a tracker bracelet and started logging time for his weekly cardio requirements.

 

 

Poe always showed up to the mess hall at peak hours. He’d looked for a tall, skinny figure with a shock of orange hair everywhere he went, but came up empty. Being a general probably didn’t allow for time to idle in the canteen or the halls.  
  
Poe lasted five meals sitting by himself. By the sixth one, he spotted a few officers with fighter corps insignia, and invited himself to sit down. They stopped talking to stare at him, but they didn’t seem hostile.  
  
“Poe Dameron. Former J Squadron.” He said simply.  
  
The officers were all human - he hadn't spotted one single non-human on the ship so far, come to think of it. The dark-haired one looked uncertain. The girl nudged the brunette, who spoke.  
  
“Daven Holshi, LIeutenant, F Squadron.” Poe held out a hand and Holshi shook it.  
  
“Arikai Barrshur, Lieutenant, F Squadron.” The girl almost parroted.  
  
The anxious looking man gave in. “Rafajan Cantnigh, Special Forces.”  
  
“You’re that commander.” Holshi remarked boldly. “The one that crashed.”  
  
“Yeah, at your service,” Poe smiled. “Now, did I use to know you all? Cause if I did, I’ve got to apologize - I don’t remember a kriffing thing,”  
  
They shook their head, murmuring “Not really”.  
  
“All right then,” Poe chopped off a slice of unidentified meat and forked it enthusiastically. “You can help catch me up. What’s the hottest news on the deck?”  
  
The F Squadron pilots and their assortment of friends, as it turned out, were tolerable people. Still wary, but Poe decided to give them some leeway. They were mostly young and under pressure and facing a cheerful amnesiac could easily put anyone out, he reasoned. He sat with them when they happened to be in the mess hall, and randomly selected new faces to terrorize when they weren’t.  
  
The hottest news on the deck was the awards ceremony to happen in a few cycles’ time. Many officers were going to be promoted in the wake of Starkiller Base. The disaster on the Supremacy and Crait was on everybody’s mind but hardly talked about. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren could read minds, they reminded Poe.  
  
“Then he’d know whatever we’re thinking, regardless of whether we talk about it, wouldn’t he.” Poe pointed out smugly,  
  
“Better safe than sorry, Dameron. Better safe than sorry.” Cantnigh muttered, staring down at his greens. How this little man made it into the Special Ops, Poe couldn’t begin to guess.  
  
Kylo Ren himself was the other forbidden topic, only heard in whispers or behind closed doors. Poe felt a deep-throated uneasiness whenever the new Supreme Leader was brought up. He thought it was odd until he noticed many others reacting in similar ways, chalking it up to Lord Ren not being a lovable character in general.  
  
The pilots naturally wanted to know more about Poe as well. Would he resume command over J Squadron upon his reinstitution? Poe had no idea. Well, where was he from? Where was he stationed before the _Finalizer_? Again, Poe had no clue. Made some joke to cover up his growing frustration.  
  
“You can just pull your own file, you know.” Holshi said pensively over a mug of steaming caf. He had a night shift in the machine shop. “It’s not the same as having your memories back, but doesn’t it beat not knowing who you were?”  
  
Oh, didn’t Poe know that. For three nights in a row now, he’d stared at his holopad long after the rest cycle had started, when the hall lights were dimmed and traffic on the cabin decks died down. His personal dashboard looked the same as always: name, serial, previous rank and assignment, the percentage on the “Training” card the only thing changing day to day depending on how much re-cert he’d finished. If he navigated to the “personal profile” menu, he could find “request complete personnel file”, and that was when his finger hovered, never really pressing it.  
  
One single click, and he would have it, the past three decades of his life wrapped up nicely in one dossier. (The medbay informed him of his age, 32, thankfully.) he would read about where he was born, where he went to school - was it the illustrious Imperial Academy so many of their top officers hailed from? Did he get top marks in all things flying but despise classroom work? He’d read about his parents and other family, depending on how much information the First Order had on him. He’d read about his past assignments and missions: the stories behind the numerous medals sleeping in his top drawer, the people he killed and the people who tried to kill him.  
  
He’d read about it all as if it was someone else’s life. The making of a First Order hero. He still wouldn’t have lived it. He still wouldn’t be who he once had been.  
  
Poe turned off his holo with a muffled curse and plopped down on his bed. BB-9e chirped in inquiry.  
  
“I somehow don’t think it’s better than not knowing.” Poe said to the ceiling. “Is that weird?”  
  
`print(“Humans are always weird”);`  
  
Whoever inputted these preset phrases did a bang-up job. Poe supposed it was most likely himself. “I’m inclined to agree with you, buddy.”  
  
Afterwards, he lay awake for hours, silently fuming at himself, the Galaxy, no one in particular.

 

 

Poe was lazing around with F Squadron again when he saw him. It was the end of the dinner period, but the pilots were determined to make use of this prime social spot until the very last minute. Poe could sympathize - the Officers’ Rec Club was too stuck-up and stuffy. Flyboys were afforded quite a generous amount of down time. Regular officers weren’t nearly as lucky. Generals certainly weren't, and Poe wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass up.  
  
“Good evening, General.” Poe greeted, all prim and respectful, as he fell into step with Hux, who had pocketed several energy bars and poured himself some dark beverage. Tea, probably. It didn’t smell like caf. “No time for dinner with us plebs? Still on duty?”  
  
“Commander Dameron.” The General seemed reasonably glad to see him. “The commander of a ship is never truly off duty, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Tough. I bet there is - woah what happened to you?” Poe had just looked at the General from the left side; the fading but sizeable bruise on his cheek was hard to miss.  
  
“I had a run-in with a wall. All that durasteel around here, as you can see.” Hux completely deadpanned. He was either a great comedian in disguise or a terrible liar. Poe wasn’t leaning towards the former.  
  
“Did you have an argument with that wall right before?” Poe couldn’t help himself.  
  
Hux fixed him with a stern glare. “You would do well not to question your superior officers like this, Dameron.”  
  
_Now he’s pulling rank? Go figure._ Poe thought back to the hushed rumours he’d heard in the canteen, in the change rooms by the Track, about General Hux and the new Supreme Leader. About what happened that miserable day on Crait. Poe found his fists tighten for a second. He despised bullies.  
  
Funny, he seemed to have a thing against Kylo Ren already; he hadn’t even met the guy.  
  
“The Supreme Leader has been asking after you.” Hux switched topics, as if reading his mind. “Your case is quite unique, and he’s interested in your progress. I think it would be proper for you to come and update him yourself.”  
  
That was new. It took a moment for Poe to realize - “Right now?”  
  
“Yes, now. Unless you were otherwise occupied?”  
  
“No. Sir.” No matter how Poe wished he had been.  
  
“Good. Follow me.” The General ordered tersely, heading towards the lifts. After a few minutes that felt much too short, Poe found himself on the bridge for the first time. He found that he liked it. Panoramic viewports opened to the colossal main deck of the _Finalizer_ ; beyond that, the planet Ukio and the great expanse. Sunlight graced rows of gleaming consoles and dozens of officers, hard at work.  
  
Hux turned to face Poe, his hair a reddish gold in the sunlight, again that glint of pride of his eyes. “Impressed, Commander? My favourite part of the _Finalizer_.”  
  
“Of course, sir.” Poe let his eyes roam in quiet awe, until they landed on a dark-haired figure and his smile died. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren noticed them, breaking off from a conversation he was having with a lieutenant.  
  
“General Hux.” The voice was deep. And soft. Not exactly what Poe expected. What was he expecting? “Commander Dameron.”  
  
“Supreme Leader.” Poe tried his best to sound reverent. What should he do - salute? Bow? Kneel? Poe had no idea. A stray thought: the Supreme Leader’s face looked awkward. What? Stop that - this man could read minds. Was he reading Poe’s mind right now? How would he even tell?  
  
What Poe ended up doing was giving a jerky half bow, trying and failing to not think about how Kylo Ren looked too young. Not enough like a Sith lord.  
  
“I have heard much about your heroism in the service of the Order, Commander. I was very sorry to be informed of your accident.” The Supreme Leader didn’t seem offended, so Poe assumed his rampant thinking was fine for now.  
  
“Thank you, sir. It will be an honour to serve the Order again, as soon as possible.”  
  
“Very good. How has your transition been?” There was something probing in Kylo Ren’s big brown eyes that made Poe uncomfortable, but he still met them straight on. “General Hux here graciously volunteered to assist you himself.”  
  
“It’s been going well, sir. General Hux has been very helpful, so have all the fighter corps officers I have met.”  
  
“I’m very glad to hear that. I wish you a speedy recovery. Good evening, General. Commander.” With that, the Supreme Leader turned to exit the bridge, his strange robe-like attire swishing dramatically.  
  
Poe gave the General the most dignified pout he could muster. “With all due respect, sir, how do I know if the Supreme Leader was reading my mind?”  
  
“You don’t.” Hux took a sip of his drink, looking content despite the bruise on his cheek. “You might know, for sure, if you find yourself thrown into a console.”  
  
Poe did a double take - did the General just make a joke? - and Hux’s face remained so impassive that Poe broke out laughing right there on the bridge.  
  
“Have you tried your luck at the flight sims, Commander?”  
  
“No, sir. I’ve nagged at them for days - wouldn’t let me until my psych eval checks out.”  
  
“Well, fortunately for you, I have considerable overriding powers on this ship. Mitaka can cover the bridge for a while longer.” Hux raised his mug at that lieutenant, who nodded back. “Dameron, why don’t you show me what you can do in a TIE fighter?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow chapter, but some setup is necessary.
> 
> Some OC moments here, because it would be cruel and unusual to make Poe not talk to anyone for five days straight XD
> 
> Next up: Poe learns how not to crash a TIE fighter and Hux has more disagreements with the walls
> 
> Leave a comment to tell me what you thought!


	4. Damn Best Pilot

Poe strapped himself down in the pilot’s seat, panicking silently. Hux was settled in the co-pilot’s seat beside him, headset already on, infuriatingly calm.  
  
_I can do this, I can do this. Get yourself together, Dameron._ It wasn’t a real fighter he was asked to fly, after all - no one would die even if he crashed. Just a flight sim. A really, really advanced flight sim, looking frighteningly authentic. It was installed very recently, the General explained.  
  
They picked a TIE/sf model because it was a two-seater, and Hux wanted to be part of the action. Poe tried to tell himself this didn’t make him particularly nervous. If he failed, if he messed up just a little - one word from the man beside him could blow his chance to fly again within a standard year to smithereens. And not just that. Poe realized that tiny glint of pride was a good look on the General; and he wanted to see it again; wanted to see it directed at him.  
  
Poe took a deep breath and secured his own headset, hitting ignition. The sim hummed to life, much like a real engine would.  
  
“Okay, I got this.” It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to fly a TIE/sf. He was pretty sure he’d done this before, once upon a time, like a game he might’ve played once or twice in childhood and suddenly recalled decades later. Problem was, it wasn’t visceral. Wasn’t instinctual. The controls looked manageable, but they didn’t feel like a part of him. It was more like someone forcing him to recite the rules to Galactic Expansion II - he never liked that game - and less like riding a kiddie speeder. It didn’t feel as if he’d been flying this kind of spacecraft for years. Perhaps a part of him was holding out hope that the moment he stepped into a cockpit, everything would come crashing back, like muscle memory, like a second skin. It didn’t. Instead, he was left here, empty, grasping for directions. Poe sure didn’t _feel_ like the best pilot in the First Order.  
  
But it was too late to back out now. He just had to calm down and figure out how to fly this thing.  
  
“Engine check: complete. Weapons check: complete. NavComm check: complete. Ready for takeoff.” Poe looked over at Hux, mildly surprised. Here Poe thought the General stood on the bridge all day. Perhaps Hux just had an incredibly well-rounded military education. Poe casually wondered how many years it’d been since _he_ was last in a real cockpit.  
  
“Black Leader to tower: requesting take off.” Poe said into the comm, reaching for the joystick. A familiar voice came into his mind: _… the toggle on the left to switch … sight on the right to aim, trigger to fire …_  
  
“This is very complicated.” Poe said out loud before he could stop himself. His long-suffering co-pilot raised an eyebrow. His skepticism was very mild - Poe had to give the General that. If Poe was the one hearing one of his squadron leaders losing his wits in their own fighter sim, he’d react quite a bit more strongly.  
  
“I got this. I can do this, okay?”  
  
The ground crew in the sim holo gave the all-clear, and Poe slammed down on the control. They were off. Suddenly everything in the Galaxy was drowned out, every one of his uncertainties melted away, until there was nothing left save for the open space around him, the console in front of his eyes, the dependable voice of his co-pilot in his headset. Poe let out a laugh. He didn’t have to worry after all. It was as if he was one with the fighter, as if he was born for no other purpose than to command a breathtaking machine like this. He was soaring; the mist couldn’t touch him here.  
  
A swarm of X-Wings appeared on his sensor, and his hands reached for the weapon controls before his brain even caught up with what he was doing. A barrel roll, a loop, a sharp turn, and the two X-Wings locking onto him collided with each other, exploding in a great ball of fire. _Beautiful._  
  
Shaking off his tails, Poe dove for the New Republic capital ship.  
  
“Shield generator down on starboard!”  
  
“Roger. We’re going in.” Hugging the contours of the starship, Poe sent half of his ion torpedoes flying. The right side of the Rebel ship exploded in flames. Not bothering to take a breath, Poe pulled up and flew close to the ship’s main deck, taking out one cannon after another. In the distance, he saw their incoming bomber squad and smiled.  
  
“Six cannons remaining on the port side. Are we engaging, Commander?” Hux didn’t sound like a general here, his eyes blazing with the reflection of the carnage outside the viewport. Everything was on fire.  
  
“Hell yes.” Poe leveled the fighter, pulling up so they could dive back and do it again …

 

 

The holoscreen faded out all too soon, before Poe could watch the Rebel ship being fully engulfed in flames. Still he rested assured it was going down. An automated voice informed them the sim was over, and Poe pulled down his headset with abandon, leaned back, still panting. Beside him, Hux was doing the same,  
  
“Kriffing Stars that was fun!” When the score board showed up on the darkened holoscreen, Poe cursed some more in surprise. There it was: FJ-CK-214: New High Score. He hadn’t lost it at all!  
  
“Told you so, Dameron.” Hux was smirking, hair mussed beyond repair by the headset and the sim unit tumbling in time with all of Poe’s stunts. “You’re bloody brilliant.”  
  
“You’re not half bad yourself, Hux.” It was true - all in all, the General was a decent co-pilot; by the book, for sure, yet competent. “You know, if the bridge ever gets too boring, I could use a good co-pilot …”  
  
“But then I’d be no different from Supreme Leader Ren!” Hux exclaimed in feigned indignation. They share a good laugh over that.  
  
They sat in the darkened replica cockpit for a while, feeling the adrenaline wear off. Eventually, they stepped out and parted ways at the lift, the General back to the bridge, Poe back to his room although he doubted he could sleep any time soon. They were making another jump tonight; Poe didn’t ask for the specifics. He glanced at the flight deck longingly - he had got to get in one of these beauties for real - soon, before he went crazy.  
  
His holopad lay on his desk as always as he entered his room. Tonight, Poe unlocked it and pressed on “request full personnel file” straightaway. No more doubt, no more excuses. He was ready to know.  
  
By the time he was finished in the ‘fresher, a new message sat in his inbox: “Request Granted”. He started reading frantically, strings of words piecing together a blurry montage of the past he couldn’t remember. _Born on the Outer Rim planet of Vodran …_ Hutt space, really? … _to Krissam and Shanor Dameron in 2 ABY … attended flight academy on Lothal_ … Lothal - did that ring a bell? … _top marks in practicals, two years as head cadet, etc … serving for three years on the First Order star destroyer, the Absolution_ \- and the file went blank. “Covert missions - classified” stared back at him in block letters, cold and mocking. His supposed life resumed on file in 32 ABY, when he was first stationed on the _Finalizer_ , then Starkiller Base, then back. Swiftly, he opened another named “personal details”: his birth certificate, most recent medical report, updated mere days ago, his parents - his parents. _Krissam and Shanor, Krissam and Shanor_ … Poe said these names over and over again. They sounded almost familiar yet almost wrong. The section on his parents wasn’t long, either. Krissam and Shanor were both loyal servants to the Empire, ace pilots; both dead before Poe would be old enough for the Academy - an ache that was buried deep in his bones crept up just so, and Poe had no trouble believing that. His left hand went up to his neckline out of habit - he was wearing a nightshirt; there was nothing there. _Was there supposed to be something there?_  
  
Slowly, Poe turned off the holopad and sank down on his bed, not bothering with his old transcripts and heavily redacted service records for now. “It was a jungle planet all right.” He mused out loud. The file did prove disappointing, but he felt oddly okay. Perhaps tomorrow he’d look up his parents in the databank. Perhaps next time shore leave rolled around, he could find out more on the holonet. But if not … It was probably the excitement talking, still. Poe was all right. It was enough to close his eyes, still seeing the stars fall behind, feeling invincible for a little while.

 

 

Falling asleep, to his surprise, was not difficult that night. Poe should’ve been more concerned about what would happen in his sleep. That night, he dreamed about flying - but not a TIE fighter. The controls felt clunkier and the ship didn’t handle as smooth, but it was so damn familiar. He was sliding low above a deep, narrow lake, trees zipping past on either banks, emerald green water shimmering in the sun, a woman’s proud laughter in his headset - _Mom?_  
  
Then the scene shifted, and it was all mayhem. Plasma blasts all around him, some ricocheting off his shields. Right in front of him, a star destroyer was half burning, tilting in a precarious manner, but the autocannons were still going strong.  
  
“Rapier Squadron, on me! On me!” He heard himself bark into the comm. His sensors beeped - bombers incoming - too soon! “Take out the cannons now! We gotta take out the cannons before the bombers get here!”  
  
A string of “Roger that”s, then it was one impossible maneuver after another over the main deck of the star destroyer. At some point he lost a shield generator and the left engine. His squad was doing good work, silencing one cannon after another. But today was not his day. Two cannons left. His right engine took fire as one of the cannons exploded. His entire ship sank as the engine sputtered, spinning for three terrifying seconds before Poe managed to level it. His orange little astromech was screeching incessantly in alarm. He spotted the incoming bombers out of the viewport, and he suddenly _knew_.  
  
“This might be the end, buddy.” He said to his BB-unit, always loyal to a fault. He wasn’t going to make it back with half an engine. But by the Stars he was going to take this triangular monstrosity down with him. Yanking on the joystick as hard as he could, he aimed the sputtering fighter into the last remaining cannon -  
  
Poe bolted up with a gasp, heart pounding. BB-9e beeped to life immediately, concerned.  
  
“It’s okay, BB. I had a …” Not a bad dream, per se. As a fighter pilot, there could be much worse dreams than one in which he was going to die honourably in combat. “A really weird dream.” He settled on.  
  
He just dreamed about sinking the _Finalizer_ , with such righteous fury. As if - Poe was scared to finish that thought. If this wasn’t a surefire way to fail his psych eval and get grounded for life, he didn’t what was.  
  
He turned to look at his astromech, perfectly round, pitch black paint.  
  
“Now, you sure you didn’t use to be orange?”  
  
The droid beeped indignantly, suitably offended by the mere notion of such a colour scheme.  
  
“You’re very sure?” Poe couldn’t help but tease, trying to elicit more outraged whistles. But instead he got:  
  
`BB-9e.feels <= emo.confused;`  
  
“Me too, buddy.” Poe lay back down, staring into the darkness. “Me too.”

 

 

Poe didn’t end up failing his psych eval. He sat through a good three hours of repetitive questions on completely mundane topics asked by an emotionless protocol droid, fighting the creepy feeling that someone was watching him the entire time. Someone most definitely was - that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Poe hated psych evals.  
  
He sat through that, pushed through the fitness tests, his leg no longer complaining, topped the charts on three more flight sims. He was elated to see his re-cert dashboard show a light red “95% complete”.  
  
Poe was on his way back from being cleared for duty at the medbay when he ran into Hux, and the sight of him had Poe frozen in his tracks. The General was clutching at his head, his face and hand covered in blood, bright red dripping through his fingers. Poe’s right hand flew to his belt but came up with nothing, cursing his luck - he was 2% away from completing re-cert and getting a standard issue blaster. Now he only had his own two hands.  
  
“Hux!” In his concern, Poe told propriety to shove off. He looked around for troopers: none; emergency lockdown alarm: one red button located a few meters away on the wall. Good. “Are we under attack? Is the -”  
  
Hux’s unbloodied hand caught Poe before he could activate the alarm. “Stop! There’s no security breach. Stand down, Commander.”  
  
Poe stayed his hand, looking at the General with some skepticism. Hux stumbled back a few steps, unsteady, obviously in pain.  
  
“Right.” Poe reached for Hux’s elbow instead, leading them in the direction he just came from.  
  
“What -?”  
  
“We're going to the medbay, of course. Sir.”  
  
“I don’t _need you to -_ ” Poe put on his best don’t-be-an-idiot glare, daring Hux to say something ludicrous like “This is an order.” Hux didn’t.  
  
“Kriff, did you just - how did anyone not - ?” Poe wasn’t sure what he was asking. The image of the ship commander dripping blood all over the spotless halls was too bizarre.  
  
“Dameron, most people on this ship have the good sense to look the other way.” Hux bit out. “And more importantly, _walk the other way_.”  
  
Poe snorted. “I don’t think ‘good sense’ is part of my pre-programmed personality, sir.”  
  
The medbay was close, thank the Stars. Not ten minutes later, Hux was sitting in his undershirt, his bloodied uniform an unceremonious heap on the floor, scowling as a spidery droid stitched his head. A simple cut and a mild concussion, the diagnosis was; not as dire as it looked. They were in a private room, left alone by even the med droids. Poe decided to play with fire.  
  
“The Supreme Leader did this, didn’t he?” He might very well resort to violence if Hux came up with some banthashit excuse again.  
  
Hux didn’t reply for the longest time, and when he did, it was quiet with carefully controlled rage. “I overstepped.”  
  
“And even so, how is that acceptable?” Poe had that deep, unsettling feeling in his stomach again, a kind of anger that burned right. “We are a military, not a -”  
  
“Dameron.” Hux hissed in warning.  
  
“- he should be glad he has the freaking Force, or -” This was disrespect. This could probably count as treason. But Poe was angry and he didn’t care. Sometimes he hated the Force. The Force was fickle and unfair. The Force always did bad things to people he gave a damn about and took them away from -  
  
“What’s it to you, Dameron?”  
  
“What’s it to me?” He said hotly. “I stand up for my friends - that’s what I do. That’s what I always do!”  
  
“What you always do?” Hux spat out. “And how do you figure? You don’t even remember who you are.”  
  
And that stung. Poe stood up abruptly from the couch he was lounging on, clutching his holopad too tightly. Hux looked regretful for one second. Poe thought he might actually apologize, but apparently that was too much to ask for. The med droid came in at that moment, oblivious to the tension in the room. The scan results were complete, it reported; a half-cycle of rest and observation would do. The General lay down on the cot with a heavy sigh, parts of his hand and face still stained red. Blood wasn’t that easy to come out.  
  
“You’re still here, Dameron?”  
  
Poe sat down again and crossed his legs, if only to be petulant. Hux turned to glower at him.  
  
“You don’t exactly look scary with a bacta strip on your forehead, you know.” It was true. The immaculate and domineering commander of the Finalizer looked disturbingly vulnerable out of uniform, pale skin reddening a little in the chill of space. And probably embarrassment, Poe added. “Yeah, I’m staying. I think it’s normal behaviour.”  
  
Hux turned away and arranged the blanket over himself with commendable attitude. Poe smiled, pulling up an educational holovid on the latest TIE fighter models.  
  
He paused it a few minutes later.  
  
“Were we friends?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Were we actually friends? Before?”  
  
The General replied eventually. “‘Friend’ is a strong word, Dameron.” He sounded half-asleep already, so Poe let him be, going back to the holovid.  
  
From time to time throughout the night, the med droid poked Hux awake for observation. He would startle, forgetting where he was in a moment of panic, then glance in Poe’s direction quite discreetly before settling down again. Poe fought a yawn and decided staying was probably worth it.

 

 

At the awards ceremony, Poe stood proudly with F Squadron, hair freshly cut to regulation length and dress uniform a shiny black. They were on Lothal, as chance would have it, but the particular compound didn’t ring any bells. On the entire shuttle ride to surface, Poe was much more mesmerized by the four mammoth star destroyers hovering just out of orbit: the _Finalizer_ , the _Harbinger_ , the _Conqueror_ , the _Retribution_. All Resurgent-class. The First Order’s best were all gathered here.  
  
An idle thought popped up: _easy target_ … He quashed it. _What was that about?_ He thought back to his dream two nights ago and shuddered.  
  
The ceremony was long-winded, but the weather, at least, didn’t add to the troops’ misery. Poe was called onto the stage and handed another medal of valour by the sour-faced Rear Admiral Sarn. For his service on Starkiller Base and later above D’Qar, which he had no collection of, and his "tenacity in the face of uncommon adversity", Sarn proclaimed. The crowd didn’t cheer - you don’t cheer or applaud during these things, Poe discovered, but the pilots gave him a few pats on the back as he rejoined the ranks.  
  
General Hux was the last to be commended, standing tall and proud in front of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, his white cape flowing softly in the wind. _Grand Admiral_ Hux, he was to be known from this moment on, rising above the three other generals here as second-in-command. Then he spoke to the crowd, with fire and steel in his voice, about the people and ships they had lost, about the First Order’s inevitable victory, about the Galaxy they were going to build. It was powerful. As surface cannons fired twenty-one shots for the fallen, Poe had no doubt they would triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to write Poe's pure love for flying by the song "Me and the Sky" from the Canadian musical, Come From Away. Do go check it out!  
> I'd be happy if I captured even half of what the songwriters were able to.
> 
> Next up: Hux's PoV! A short chapter to shed some light into whatever the First Order's two-man High Command has been up to this whole time.
> 
> Quite a lot happened in this chapter. Leave a comment and tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> And there, the Experiment is all set up! 
> 
> Poe's PoV in the next chapter, and the tone will probably lift a lot more. 
> 
> Any thoughts on the characterization of Ren and Hux? I somehow find these two super hard to write. 
> 
> Any comments are welcome.


End file.
